


Yuuri's Desperate Fetch Quest

by ThinkingCAPSLOCK



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Humour, M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-27
Updated: 2016-12-27
Packaged: 2018-09-12 12:27:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9071701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThinkingCAPSLOCK/pseuds/ThinkingCAPSLOCK
Summary: Viktor won't kiss Yuuri until he wins a gold medal. But he never specified what kind of gold medal it had to be. That's why, in the middle of the Russian winter, Yuuri's at a sketchy fair, trying to find a way to win the rigged games. At this point, he'd settle for just one win.





	

"I don't see why I had to come," Yuri sniffs, the fifth time he has since they got off the train. His hands are deep in his parka pockets, the ear flaps on his hat turned down - Yuuri knows it's more in an attempt to stop listening to him, rather than because he's cold - and a tightly wound leopard print scarf at his neck. The tip of his nose is red. "I'm not your babysitter. I have things to do. Important things."

"I bet," Yuuri replies. He shakes his head. Yuri had been trying to get a good shot of his new laptop vinyl sticker for twenty minutes before Yuuri had come to him asking how to read the train schedule. One thing had lead to another, and Yuri not only escorted him to the station (saying a child could read the map he'd drawn, when really it had been drawn _by_ a child), but had somehow wound up with him, in a small city an hour away from their training grounds, where the fair was.

The fair. A ferris wheel, somehow running in the mid of winter. There's loud music from the main game booths, steam and smells rising in the air from hot food, and despite the early morning, a large crowd of happy, if cold, Russians. Yuuri's been to lots of fairs back in Japan, and even a few in America with Phichit. He likes them - the food's always inventive, the crowds fun. He likes seeing animals, if there are any. But he didn't drag himself out here just for those things. Not this time. 

This time, he's here because of Viktor. 

It's hard, having a condition for your fiancé to kiss you. And that condition being reliant on waiting on competitions, advancements, and placements in an incredibly competitive sport you both participate in. In fact, it's so difficult that, three months into their dating/pre-married life, Yuuri has still yet to kiss Viktor aside from that one time on the ice.

But there's one thing you can do at a fair that's a lot easier than in competitive skating. You can win against the odds and get prizes. And, at this fair, some of those prizes come in the form of shiny gold medals. 

Yuuri is just a _little_ desperate at this point. 

"Oi! Are you gonna stand there staring or can we get this over with?!" Yuri's walked quite a few meters away. Yuuri realizes he's been staring at the same mound of snow for the past two minutes. With a yelp, he rushes forwards, tucking his own red scarf back into his coat as he goes. Yuri rolls his eyes, pulling out his phone. "Least I can document this trip. Can't believe you took me to such a garbage-"

"You can't post this!" Yuuri shouts. A few Russians, entering the large fair, turn back to look at him. Yuuri self-consciously rubs at his neck. "Look, Viktor follows all your social accounts, so please don't post anything at least until we're home! He doesn't know I'm here. He might think it's cheating. I told him I was going to watch a live stream in a movie theatre of some annual katsudon cook off in Japan-"

"Are you shitting me?"

"-and that you were taking me there."

"And he _believed_ there's such a thing?" Yuri's face wrinkles in disgust. He shoves the phone back in his pocket. "Bah. You two are so gross. Let's just get this over with. I'm hungry."

"There's food at the fair, Yurio," Yuuri mutters. Yuri doesn't seem to hear him, stalking towards the colourful flags marking the entrance of the fair. He stops when he gets to the ticket booth, looking back expectantly.

Yuuri should've expected he'd be paying both of their entrance fees. He reaches into his bag, pulling out his wallet, and hopes it's worth it.

-

"Viktor!" Mila waves a hand, skating across the rink as Viktor enters. He reacts with a wave in return, and a quick smile. He's alone. Mila adjusts one of her gloves as she pulls up to a stop beside him. "Fancy seeing you here. I thought you and Yuuri were out somewhere together, since he's not here practicing today."

"Ah, not today." Viktor wags his finger and pushes off. Mila follows, easily keeping pace as they chat. "He's taken Yurio out today. Isn't that cute! I think they're finally becoming friends."

Mila isn't quite sure about that, considering yesterday Yuri had stomped his skates into the rink ice when Yuuri failed to do this combination jump three times in a row, and then thrown the chunks of ice he produced at Yuuri's head. He even got one down his back. "What are they out doing?"

"It's a livestream at a theatre! Of a tradition Yuuri's so fond of - he called it the Annual Katsudon Cook Off, and it's the eighth year running! Isn't that so sweet of them to share it together? And Yurio asked if he could tag along!"

Mila feels her mouth fall open. If the name of the event wasn't the most obvious tip Yuuri was a terrible liar, then the fact he claimed Yuri would have volunteered to attend should have been a huge flag. Viktor's rosy cheeks and huge grin don't seem to have put the pieces together yet, though. Still, lying isn't like Yuuri, and Mila can only wonder what on earth is so important to even require a somewhat elaborate, though obvious, lie. She's going to need to check her phone the moment she can get away from Viktor, just in case Yuri sends anything along.

She hopes he does. It sounds much more fun than a katsudon cook off, after all.

-

Yuuri is not having any fun.

Eight games. Eight shiny gold medals left in their booths. He'd failed the shooting games first, then the luck and chance, then the memory games. Each time, just out of reach, but if he plays once more, maybe then he'll get it! He isn't a fool. He can tell the odds are stacked against his winning: impossible shots after simple ones, luck games that somehow let the stall owner always be a little more lucky than you, memory games where your memory doesn't fail you, but you lose all the same.

Yuuri is _pretty sure_ there is some major cheating going on here. He just wishes it was in _his_ favour.

After the eighth failure, Yuri had loudly declared his hunger, again, and stormed off to get food. He'd returned with three corndogs and a box of potato wedges, though Yuuri suspects there was even more food before he arrived. The most shocking thing of all was that one corndog and the wedges were for _him_ , not Yuri. It was likely an attempt to keep him from talking.

Not really wanting to eat and stand (and with the crushing knowledge he's so far wasted 3 hours of his life in this cold Russian hellscape), the two had made their way to a sitting area. The picnic tables had only recently been cleared of snow, and a thin layer of ice still coated the surface. Yuuri stares at it still, shifting uncomfortably on his icy seat. He'd tried lying face down on the picnic table to complain about his failure, but Yuri mentioned how he couldn't wait to see him stick his tongue to the ice. Since then, he's sat, ramrod straight, and just as depressed. 

Yuri, on the other hand, continues to devour his last corndog as if his life depends on it. 

"This whole day is boring so far," Yuri huffs around large bites. "I should've worn my Heely's. That hill looks great for sliding down."

"It's covered in ice," Yuuri notes. Yuri just glares, devouring another bite of his food. Yuuri pushes his remaining wedges around absently. "Listen, I'm sorry things aren't going well. I knew games could be rigged, but these are just... ridiculous."

"Can we go home then? I wanna share these photos of you losing on the Internet."

"Not until I win a gold medal, Yuri. That was the deal when I bought your train ticket. If you want me to pay your way home, you'll stay." Yuri looks to the side, sliding the remaining piece of corndog off the stick and into his mouth. Yuuri clears his throat. "Remember that I just need one, and then we can go. Just one. There's got to be something here left to try."

"Eugh, is it that important? Why do you even _want_ to kiss him?" Yuri's face is equal parts confused, disgusted, and covered in ketchup. He starts picking his teeth with the corndog stick. 

"Well, we've been engaged for months, and I love him? This is what he said I had to do for another kiss, and I've been trying to find a way..." Yuuri trails off with a sigh. Yuri hasn't dropped the Look, even if he is twirling the corndog stick on his fingers now. He doesn't think he'll be able to explain it to Yuri's satisfaction, whatever he says. "You'll understand when you're older."

"I'm plenty old enough to understand, old man. This isn't the Stone Age. I know what sex is." 

The topic was kissing. Yuuri lets it slide. "I'm sure, Yurio. But I'm doing this because I love Viktor, and I want to. If this is what it takes to get him to kiss me, I'll go to a hundred fairs like it."

With a creeping dread in his stomach, Yuuri realizes that, yes, he _would_ definitely attend many sketchy fairs, paying ridiculous prices for food and games, if it meant when he got home he could kiss Viktor. There's no maybe involved - if it guaranteed a kiss at the end of it, well, the train ride here wasn't that bad, and freezing to a picnic table isn't much different than falling during a jump. 

No wonder he can't explain being in love. It's bizarre.

Yuri doesn't reply, not that Yuuri expected him to. He lobs the corndog stick into a nearby trash bin, scowling even though he makes the shot, and props his boot covered feet up on the picnic table top. The ice coating cracks under the sudden force. Yuuri flinches.

"So are you just gonna sit here and mope like you always do after you lose?" he asks. Yuuri opens his mouth to protest, and Yuri rolls his eyes. "Whatever. You just..." 

His voice trails off. His eyes don't finish their roll, instead sticking on something off to the side. Yuuri follows his gaze to a large stand, stuffed full of plush animal prizes. Despite the large quantity, Yuuri knows immediately which one has caught his attention, as it comes in the form of a giant tiger the size of Yuri's entire torso. 

It's a shooting game - much like one Yuuri tried before. He hadn't been good enough to win the top gold prize, and this place has no gold medals - but he thinks he could shoot well enough to get it. Yuri had been miserable at it when he tried - probably owing to the fact he can't see properly with all that hair in the way. 

"Wait here," he says, pushing up his glasses. Yuri shrugs grumpily and pulls out his phone. 

He nearly drops it when, ten minutes later, Yuuri returns with the tiger. He tries to hide his smile in the tiger's neck as he all but hugs it, but Yuuri's quick enough with a camera by now (after coaching by Phichit) to snap a photo of it. Yuri won't be the only one with a trip to document once they're back home. There's no thank you, but his expression is generally as close to a thanks as Yuuri has come to expect.

Yuri keeps a tight hold on it as they make their rounds again. He doesn't make any small talk, but he doesn't object to the walk, or whine when Yuuri fails at yet another chance game to get a gold medal hanging behind another tall Russian's head at a sketchy booth. Yuuri's going to have to try bribing him more often.

It's mid-afternoon when it happens. Yuri's crouched, feeding a third handful of food to a goat inside a faux barn. A staff member hovers nearby - last time he'd tried to leave, Yuri yelled at him to come back and give him more 'goat food', or else. His tiger, dubbed Duke Death Stripe III, is secure in Yuuri's hands very far away from any animal mouths. The overhead speakers crackle to live, a high-pitched whining noise showing their age (ancient) and upkeep (horrid).

 _Last call for sign-ups for the All You Can Eat Competition at the Winter Fair,_ comes the gravelly voice. _Sign up at the Big Barn and take home gold. It's the victory of a lifetime! I repeat, last call for-_

"Excuse me," Yuuri hails the staff member, who wanders over, but not out of Yuri's line of sight. "The eating competition. What are they eating?"

The man hums as he scratches his beard. He tilts his head to the side. "Hm. I believe it's a Japanese dish this year. Something like... Katsucon?"

The sky opens up, parting the roof of the barn, and shines directly on Yuuri's slouched shoulders and tiger laden arms. A turn of his luck. A blessing from on high. Maybe something he can actually _win_ in this forsaken cold tundra of a country. "Do- is that- do you mean, katsu _don_?!"

"That's it, my good man! Thank you. Yes, katsudon. Never had it myself, but there you go. If it's something you're interested in, I recommend you head to the Big Barn!"

"Yuri," Yuuri calls. "We're going. Right now."

Yuri straightens, the goat straining to get the last bits of food in his hand. "What? Why?"

"Why?" Yuuri turns to face the doorframe, light streaming in, the Big Barn just on the edge of his vision. The promised land. "Because I'm going to win this gold medal, and Viktor's going to kiss me. And nothing's going to stop me."

Yuri groans. "You have _got_ to be shitting me." 

-

Viktor is starting to get worried.

He's not quick to worry - he prides himself on his laid back, at ease nature. But he's sent Yuuri three texts today - three! - and has not gotten a _single_ reply. There's been no comments or likes on his Instagram posts with Mila, no response to his email with the list of groceries they need. He's not used to being ignored.

Unless something's wrong.

"Milaaaaaa," he whines, sitting on the floor outside the rink, skates still on, phone in hand. Mila, behind him, skates over and leans down. "Why won't he reply?"

There's a very long pause before she replies, in which time Viktor looks up at her, sees her weird, confused expression, and makes one of his own. She notices him looking and tries to smooth it into an awkward smile.

"I'm sure he's just... busy. With the movie... thing? And doesn't want to check his phone and disturb others."

"But I don't _care_ about the others. It's been seven hours since I last heard from him. Can a cook off even be that long?"

"S-sure! I think. I mean, of course, if he hasn't replied, it must be! Haha!" Mila's expression is quite off, and Viktor thinks it might not be because he's staring at it upside down. He gets to his feet, and Mila looks over her shoulder, distracted. She continues laughing in a pained way. 

"Mila, is there something you're not telling me?" he whispers. He reaches out and touches her cheek, his long fingers against her soft skin. "Is Yuuri in trouble? Is he angry with me? You can tell me, I won't let him know this is how I found out. Oh, he's usually so direct with me, I wonder what-"

"It's not that!" Mila pulls back, her fumbling graceful on the ice even as her hands flail. "Um, I think I can hear Yakov calling me. Try phoning Yurio, he usually answers. Bye!"

"Mila!" he yells, but she's gone, and if he didn't know better he'd think she was switching to speed skating with how fast she skates to the far side of the rink. First Yuuri, and now her. It seems he has no choice but to call the little kitten after all. 

It takes two rings for Yuri to answer his phone. "Who gave you this number?" snaps the voice on the other end. There's a lot of noise in the background, which sounds strangely like chanting. Viktor tries to ignore it.

"Yurio!" he says, forcing cheer into his voice. "Are you with Yuuri? I can't get in contact with him, and I'm worried."

"What, that idiot? Yeah, he's here with me," Yurio replies. There's some odd shuffling. "Oi! Fuck off! This is my spot!" 

"Yurio? What's going on?"

"Nothing important. Is that all you wanted to know? You're wasting my minutes."

"Can you put Yuuri on for me? I really want to talk to him."

"He's busy." There's more shuffling, and the sound becomes muffled. Viktor can clearly hear someone yell 'davai' at the top of their lungs. It might have been Yurio - but that's silly. More shuffling, and the phone becomes clear again. "He's busy and even if he wasn't, he wouldn't want to talk to you. Is that everything?" There's another pause, and this time Viktor is _sure_ Yurio is yelling something. He catches something about a winner, and a new champion, and hears a round of applause.

"Where are you two? What is going on? Are you even at the movie theatre? Yurio? Yurio, answer me! Yuri Plisetsky-"

He pulls back the phone to yell into it, to really give Yurio a piece of his mind (and find out where they are!) and notices something very important on the screen. 

The call's ended. Yurio hung up on him. 

-

Yuuri arrives home just after eight to a dark house, Viktor sitting, knees tucked to his chest, under his bad English blanket reading "Affection Living Giggles", watching the Italian dub of the animated 'Anastasia' movie at full volume. He thinks there is a _slight_ chance Viktor figured out he was lying about where he was all day.

He approaches slowly, so as to not startle Viktor too much when he mutes the TV and turns on the lamp. He shouldn't have worried - Viktor barely blinks, his eyes glazed over, tissues scattered by his feet. It's disgusting. 

Yuuri loves him so much.

"Hey, Viktor, um, I'm home," he asks, brushing away the tissues to the floor. "How're you? How was practice?"

"Yuuri," Viktor mumbles, his mouth half covered by knee and striped pajama pant, "Yuuri, where were you today?"

"Well, I was-"

Viktor launches into the air, standing up on the couch. His blanket flies off, half landing on the tissue covered floor. Viktor brandishes one long dramatic finger, pointing it squarely at Yuuri's noise. Yuuri, for his part, gracefully leaps back a foot, rams the base of his spine into the arm of the couch, and shrieks.

"There is no such thing as the Annual Katsudon Cook Off! Let alone eight of them! And Yurio was out yelling in a crowd! And he got a new stuffed tiger from somewhere! And here I was, worried sick something happened, and now I don't even know who you are!" He clenches his outstretched hand into a fist, the other gracing his forehead, as if he's about to faint. "Yuuri, what have I done to you? If you wish to run away and tear my heart asunder, at least give me the grace of a note of farewell, or-"

"Viktor, you've got the wrong idea!" Yuuri catches Viktor's wrist and tugs, firmly, until Viktor seats himself back on the couch. "I'm not leaving you. I only... I lied to you because I had no other choice! And I... I'm sick of not being able to kiss you!"

The anguish slips off Viktor's face. "What?"

Yuuri's already moving, tugging out the small gold medal that reads 'Winter Fair Eating Contest Winner, 2017' from his shirt. "I ate a bowl of katsudon in under two minutes to win this gold medal! You said - you said it had to be gold, to get a kiss, and I've finally won one, so you have to kiss-"

"Yuuri, I can tell you're upset," Viktor murmurs, as if he hadn't been crying and watching a children's movie two minutes ago. He reaches a hand out to cup Yuuri's cheek. It's warm, and comforting, but Yuuri can't help but be irritated. What is Viktor _doing?_

And then Viktor speaks again.

"What on earth are you talking about?"

"What am I-?" Yuuri stares at his fiancé, into those large blue eyes, and realizes, not for the first time, that Viktor Nikiforov is a complete moron. " _You're_ the one who told me that you weren't going to kiss me unless I won a gold medal! You insisted on it! You didn't even kiss me goodnight the first night we moved in together because of it! And with there not being a competition at all for another month, I spent all this time planning - I spent hours playing stupid fair games and getting cheated - I nearly got permanently stuck in a snow bank walking back to the train - I bribed Yurio into letting me have the window seat - and you're telling me you have _no idea what I'm talking about?!_ "

"...Ah. Whoops." Those two words, just two words is all it takes for Yuuri to realize exactly what's gone on. 

"You forgot." Yuuri says. His voice is totally flat. "You set this impossible condition, and you've forgot about it."

"I just thought you were shy!" Viktor shrinks back. This time Yuuri feels himself starting to rise to his feet. "Even this morning, I thought, Yuuri is but a humble boy, and I'm his first serious relationship, let alone having a fiancé! Perhaps kissing is too much for him."

Yuuri turns to stare at Viktor's face, in complete disbelief. He can't _seriously_ be trying to worm his way out of this. He can't think that a few good words can smooth over months - months! - of pain, and suffering, and planning, and having his face rolled into the wall in the middle of the night for getting too close to Viktor's face with his lips.

Except, it's Viktor, so of course he is.

"Now that we know better, Yuuri, there's nothing that an apology kiss can't fix, yes?" He reaches his arms out, and Yuuri puts his hand against Viktor's forehead, firmly pressing until Viktor is forced into the back of the couch. Yuuri steps off the couch with a sigh. Hands grab into his shirt, and he forces them free, once, before they return. He throws off his shirt in a vain attempt to escape, just barely jumping out of the way when Viktor launches up to tackle him. 

"Yuuri," he calls, "I promise I won't forget again! Why, I even forget what we were talking about! Where are you going? Yuuri?"

Yuuri whirls around, huffs, and whips the medal at Viktor's head. It lands with a satisfying ping, right between his wide blue eyes.

Yuuri will kiss him in the morning. Maybe.

**Author's Note:**

> i love this show
> 
> edit dec26/16: look at this [adorable fanart](https://twitter.com/aerialseat/status/813599285899968512) my friend drew for the fic!


End file.
